School Days
by NeverEndingEllipsis
Summary: Kid!Cabinlock story. Both Sherlock and Martin have started school, but when their first days don't go exactly as planned, they gravitate towards eachother as their only friends.
1. Sherlock's First Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock **_**or **_**Cabin Pressure. Sherlock's**_** characters originally belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and their new versions to the trolls Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. **_**Cabin Pressure's**_** characters belong to the BRILLIANT John Finnemore.**

**Note: This chapter is purely Sherlock. The next chapter will be purely Martin. It won't be untill the third chapter untill they are actualy in scenes together. Just thought I'd mention this beofre you eat me alive!**

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It was little Sherlock's first day of school. He had heard about school from the media and from his older brother, Mycroft, but now he was ready to experience it for himself. It was a new thing for Sherlock, but that was okay, he liked new things. It meant another mystery and another adventure.

He was walking with his mum who had his tiny hand enclosed in hers. They came up to a door that had the words "Room 4" painted on it in big, white lettering. Sherlock looked upon the door with excitement and a little bit of nerves, but soon they were walking through the door into his new classroom. Inside, was a room full of colour. All the walls were covered with posters of children books and television characters. There were pictures of various animals, each labelled with their name. There was a corner in the back of the classroom with dollhouses, race cars, and other toys to play with, as well as a bin of dress-up clothes. Scattered around the room were tables with chairs all circling around a giant rainbow coloured rug in the middle of the classroom. Here sat about ten other children between the ages of four and six, some looking nervous, others staring around the room in bewilderment, and others whispering to each other.

Sherlock stood there taking in the site of the room, taking mental note of every detail. His mum then got down on her knees to be at Sherlock's height.

"Have fun today, okay?" she said handing Sherlock his lunch box for later "I'll pick you up at two." And she hugged him goodbye. Sherlock wrapped his arms around his mum, who then kissed him on the cheek. He was released a moment later and Sherlock stepped into his classroom

Only a few feet inside, Sherlock found himself facing a middle-aged woman dressed in as much colour as the room. She had curly brown hair that framed her red face that adorned a huge grin. The young, observant child that was Sherlock figured this was his teacher.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Robertson, your teacher," said the women, in a tone of voice you'd expect adults to use with small children, "what's your name?"

"Sherlock" he answered matter-of-factly.

"Hello Sherlock. You can go put your things over there," said Mrs. Robertson gesturing to some cubbies that held lunch boxes. "Then you can go take a seat on the rug with the others," she finished. Sherlock nodded with a grin and did as he was told

Sherlock took a seat next to two young girls, one with blonde pigtails in a pink dress, and the other with black, straight hair wearing a Minnie Mouse t-shirt. The blonde girl leaned over to Sherlock and said, "Hi! I'm Cindy! What's your name?" she obviously wasn't the very shy type.

Sherlock turned to her and answered "Sherlock."

Cindy started to giggle at Sherlock's reply, "That's a funny name," she said

"N-no it's not." Replied the insulted Sherlock, who felt a blush creeping in on his cheeks

"It kinda is…" answered Cindy, but she got cut off by Mrs. Robertson.

"Hello class, I am your teacher, Mrs. Robertson," she said as she took a seat on the carpet with the rest of the class. "Why don't we start by introducing ourselves? You know who I am, and you are…" she said to the girl left of her, a girl apparently named Martha.

Sherlock didn't really want to share his name with the entire class, not since it was laughed at earlier. What would the rest of class say? Would they laugh just like Cindy did? The kids went around the circle one by one stating their names, each time getting closer to Sherlock's turn. Before he knew it, Cindy was stating her name and it was his turn.

Sherlock could feel the butterflies in his stomach as he whispered, "Sherlock" out loud to the class.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Mrs. Robertson not having heard the barely audible statement

"Sherlock," he said a little louder so that people could hear. He heard a few giggles from around the room at the unusual name and Sherlock felt his cheeks get red hot. He looked down in embarrassment to hide his face as the students continued to introduce themselves.

The rest of the day wasn't much better for the little Sherlock. His teacher read them a story, one about going to school for the first time. Then she explained a little about what they would learn in the class that year before going on to see how much the students already knew. It was basic counting and reciting the alphabet, immensely elementary for the genius-to-be. That whole time no one laughed at Sherlock again, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing, for no one said a word to him. Sherlock was ignored for the first part of the day.

When lunch came, Sherlock had no friend to sit with. Most of his classmates had met someone by the time lunch came and they sat talking, but not the little boy with the funny name. He went to a bench near the playground and ate his lunch his mum had packed for him alone.

The rest of the day didn't improve much for little Sherlock. The second half of the day was dedicated to arts and crafts and play time. He sat and painted for the whole time while he watched some girls dress up as princesses and some other boys play with toy trucks and things. Sherlock was tempted to join the group of the latter, but decided against it out of fear of being mocked again.

Before he knew it though, it was two-o-clock and time for Sherlock to go home. His mum greeted him outside his classroom door with arms wide open for a hug, a hug which he gladly accepted. The arms of his mummy were almost enough for him to forget his awful first day of school.

"How was your first day of school?" asked his mum. Sherlock shrugged in response. "Did you have fun today?" she asked again. Sherlock didn't exactly have fun today, but for some reason he didn't want to tell his mum that.

"I painted some pictures," replied Sherlock with fake enthusiasm, making it seem like he did indeed have fun.

"That sounds like fun!" and they continued on their way home.

Sherlock was glad to be home. As soon as they walked through the door Sherlock ran straight to his bedroom. He grabbed his prop pirate sword and hat and ran out to his mum.

"ARRRGH!" he said, pointing his sword menacingly at his mum.

"Oh! Pirate now are we?" said his mum. Sherlock loved to play pirate, though in his mind, it wasn't exactly play, it was more like practice. Practice for what he hoped to grow up to be. "Well you better watch out little pirate because, here comes the tickle monster!" she shouted. Sherlock then swung his foam sword at his mum's fingers to ward off the dreaded tickles.

They continued this for a while until a giggling Sherlock was trapped in his mum's arms being attacked by tickles and kisses.

It was then that Mycroft came home from the "big kid school" as Sherlock called it.

"Hi mum, hi Sherlock" he said as he walked in.

"How was school?" asked Mummy, releasing her hold on Sherlock. The released pirate want-to-be then picked up his fallen sword, ran over to his older brother, pointed it straight at his chest and shouted "ARGHHH!"

"Arrgh," said Mycroft with less enthusiasm then Sherlock. "It was okay," he said replying to his mum. "My teachers seem nice". Then he went to his room.

The close of the door was heard and then pirate Sherlock turned towards his mum.

"Okay kiddo, mummy's got to go make dinner now okay? We'll play pirate later," said his mum

"Okay," said Sherlock, slightly disappointed, but he went back into his room and played there. He swung his sword around, pretending to fight off the dreaded Doctor Snuggles, Sherlock's teddy bear. Then he snuck into the cave to steal the treasure, but he had to be really careful not to be caught, the cave being his closet and the treasure being some plastic coins he had from some toy. He let his imagination roam like this until he heard his father come home.

"DADDY!" shouted Sherlock running towards his dad.

"Hey Sherlock, how was school?"

"Uh…okay" he replied.

"Just okay?" Sherlock shrugged in reply. His mum came in then, saving him from explaining his day in detail.

"Hello honey," said Sherlock's mum to his dad, "dinner's almost ready."

"Okay, be there in a bit" he replied as she left to finish up. "Hey, go get your brother, Sherlock."

"Okay!" and Sherlock ran to Mycroft's room. He knocked on the door when he got there.

"Yeah!" shouted Mycroft from inside. "Come in!" and Sherlock opened the door. "Oh, hey," said Mycroft when he saw that it was Sherlock at the door. He was playing with his beloved action man. He loved that toy as much as Sherlock loved his pirate sword.

"Dinner's ready," said Sherlock to Mycroft.

"Oh okay," he replied as he got up to put his action man in its special place on his bookshelf. Mycroft took very good care of that toy. "So how was school?" asked Mycroft acting brotherly.

"Okay," replied Sherlock, making the single word answer a sort of catch-phrase

"Make any friends?"

"Not…exactly."

Mycroft chuckled. "Why, what'd you do?"

"Nothing! They just…well…laughed at my name."

"What? Did they give you nick names or something? Hmmm let's see, Shirley? Shirley Temple maybe! Did they call you Shirley temple?" accused Mycroft, now beginning to laugh.

"No! They just…" but Mycroft wouldn't listen; he was too busy going hysterical with laughter.

Tears began to fill little Sherlock's eyes in anger at his brother's mockery. Every second longer Mycroft continued to laugh caused Sherlock's vision to become one shade darker of red.

In his moment of rage, Sherlock sought revenge. His vision darted to Mycroft's precious action man, carefully poised for display. The angry five-year-old then went over to it, snatched it from the shelf, and smashed it to the ground, causing the left arm to pop off.

Mycroft's laughter instantly ceased at the sight of his broken toy. He went over to it and picked it up. He then picked up the severed arm and put it to the spot where it had once attached to the toy, to see if it would magically repair itself. When he realized that this was impossible, tears spilled down his cheeks, and the boy let out a cry that was heard throughout the whole house.

"Why? WHY!" Mycroft spit out between sobs. Sherlock felt slight satisfaction at causing his brother pain, but the satisfaction of revenge could only last so long.

Their parents ran over to Mycroft's room at the sound of his cry. "What happened?" asked their mum at the scene of the crime.

Mycroft instantly ran to his mum. "Sherlock…Sherlock broke…broke," he choked out, holding up the pieces to his action man.

"Oh it's okay," said their mum cradling Mycroft, gently patting him on the back. "I think I can fix it."

"Why did you break his toy, Sherlock?" asked their dad in a confrontational manner. "That wasn't very nice."

"But Mycroft-"

"No buts, go to your room."

"But he was-"

"Now Sherlock. Go to bed, now, no dinner, go now!"

Sherlock began to cry again, but this time from the frustration of injustice.

"Go!"

Sherlock obeyed and went to his room, slamming his door behind him. He flopped down on his bed and curled up with Doctor Snuggles, who was more comforting than evil at the moment, and began to sob. Today had been an awful, a day he wish he could just delete from his memories. But unfortunately, little Sherlock would have to go back to school tomorrow and re-live the nightmare again.

The little boy began to sob more at the thought.

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**So? What did you think? Please leave me a review. The next chapter will be little Martin Crieff's first day of school. I have allready started writing it, but reviews will encourage me and make me write faster ;)**


	2. Martin's First Day

**NOTE****: This is Martin's first day. I wanted to tell you that I am writing Martin as the middle child in his family (since I don't think it was specified in the show, if it was let me know) because it seems likely that Captain Crieff may have suffered middle child syndrome. So, I have written Simon as his older brother and Katelyn as his baby sister. Okay, enjoy!**

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Young Martin Crieff could not have been more nervous about starting school. His older brother Simon had told him all about it, but it still wasn't reassuring. He was in the car, his dad driving him to his new school. He hated how he kept getting closer and closer each second

"It'll be okay, Martin," said his father reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll make tons of mates and have a great time!" Martin wasn't convinced.

The moment Martin was dreading had arrived. His dad pulled the car into the school parking lot and got out. He then went to the back seat to help Martin out of the car and grab his things. His dad held his hand as they walked up to the classroom door marked with white lettering reading "Room 3".

Martin's dad got down on one knee to be at Martin's height. "It'll be all right sport! Don't worry about it!" Martin gave a small nod, trying to be brave for his dad.

"Hey, look here," said his dad grabbing Martin's backpack. "There's a little something special in here for you," and he pulled out the child's favourite toy, a plastic airplane. A genuine smile came onto Martin's face at the sight of it and he reached for it.

"Now, you're not really supposed to have this here," said his father whispering to the boy, "But it will be in here if you need it, okay?" he said zipping the plane back up inside Martin's backpack. "Now, go on ahead."

Martin's dad gave him a little nudge towards the doorway. Martin turned away from his dad and, although cheered up a bit by seeing his toy plane, proceeded cautiously.

His classroom was decorated very much like the neighbouring one. Colours were everywhere, making it seemingly inviting to the young child. There was no rainbow carpet in the room, but instead there were five tables each with four seats that were scattered around the room. Each table had different coloured seats and a sign hanging above labelling that table by the corresponding chair colour. The tables themselves had paper and crayons spread out on them for children to play with before class started. When Martin arrived, about fifteen children were already there colouring to their heart's desire.

While looking around the classroom, Martin was able to spot his teacher. She was tall and blonde, wearing a denim skirt and white t-shirt with a black jacket. She was probably in her late twenties.

"Hello, and you are?" asked his teacher, in a surprisingly mature voice for an adult talking to a small child, "I'm Ms. McCormick, your teacher."

"I'm...Martin," he replied in a small voice

"Are you nervous about your first day, Martin?" he nodded in reply. "It's okay to be nervous, but I will tell you, you are going to have a great time! So why don't you put your stuff over there and then take a seat. Feel free to draw if you want." Martin obliged and a felt the small tugging of a smile on his lips. Maybe school wouldn't be so bad after all.

Once Martin put his things away in a cubby on the wall, he took a seat and instantly reached for a piece of paper and crayons. He grabbed a blue crayon and pressed to the paper and began drawing, you guessed it, an airplane.

Martin had actually gotten pretty good at drawing airplanes, or at least pretty good for a five-year-old. He constantly begged his parents to show him pictures of different airplanes and he studied them closely so that he could copy the shape onto paper with his own hand.

Martin was just putting the final touches on his drawing when Ms. McCormick called the class to her attention, "Hello class, I hope you know that we are going to have a fantastic year and, although some of you may be nervous about starting school, I'm sure we will all become friends here. Starting school is a big deal in your young lives, but I hope your first year of it will be most enjoyable!" Ms. McCormick then went to tell the children what kind of stuff they would be doing at school, explaining how the learning would be mixed with fun. Martin made sure to pay attention to every word his teacher spoke so that he could be prepared for this upcoming year.

Once Ms. McCormick's speech was done, they began with some introductory things. They went around the room and told the class their names, luckily with no giggling at one another. Then Ms. McCormick told them where they would be sitting by assigning them a table colour. Martin was assigned to sit at the red table, along with three other students. Afterwards, Ms. McCormick taught them a short song that was both fun and educational. They practiced this until the lunch bell rang.

At lunch, Martin's class all kind of ate in one area on a big picnic table near their classroom door, with the girls on one half and the boys on the other. Martin sat amongst the boys. He had not made a friend yet, but he figured sitting with his classmates would be the best way to have that happen. The children talked about a variety of things from whether they had siblings to what their favourite television show was. Martin got asked a few questions, and he asked some of his own as well.

"Hey who's that over there?" asked a boy named Thomas, someone Martin was beginning to get closer with. He was pointing to a little boy with curly black hair sitting alone on a bench near the playground, looking kind of depressed.

"He's from the other class," answered another boy at the table

"Hasn't he got any friends?" replied Thomas

"Maybe he's sick, or crazy," said another kid with a bit of a giggle

"That must be it," said Thomas also beginning to giggle and some of the other children joined in Martin looked over at the boy and felt kind of bad. He looked sad and lonely. He sympathised with him, but did nothing else. He stayed at his table until lunch was over.

At the end of lunch, Martin put his lunch box back in his cubby and then took a seat at his table. Ms. McCormick then told them that the rest of day would be designated for playtime and that they could do whatever they pleased. There were boxes of toys that she had pulled out for them as well as more art supplies and puppets. Martin decided to go over to one of the boxes of toys where Thomas and some of the other boys he socialized at lunch with were gravitating towards. Martin peered inside the box and saw toy trucks, dolls, playhouses, toy dinosaurs, a yo-yo, and other things. Martin was hoping there would be a toy airplane, but to his dismay, there wasn't one. Martin did a little bit more rummaging through the box in hopes of an airplane toy hiding at the bottom, but he had no such luck. Martin stood back and let some of the other kids take a look when he remembered what his dad had given him. He had his own airplane toy in his backpack. His dad said he wasn't really supposed to have it though. Was he allowed to play with it? Well, it was playtime after all; Martin figured it wouldn't be bad to take it out.

"I'll be right back," said Martin to the other boys. He ran over to his cubby and grabbed his backpack with his shiny airplane toy, grabbed it, and rushed back to the other boys.

"Ooh. What's that?" asked Thomas

"It's my toy plane!" replied Martin, very excited with the boys taking interest in it. "It's my favourite toy from home."

"You like airplanes Martin?" asked Thomas

"Mhmm, I love airplanes! Someday, I'm going to be an airplane!"

"What?

"I said someday I'm going to be an airplane!" repeated Martin

Thomas began to giggle. "You can't be an airplane!"

"Why not?" asked Martin, his excitement beginning to drop.

"Because you can't."

"Why?"

"Just because, People don't become airplanes, it can't happen."

"Well, maybe you can't but I will. I'm going to be an airplane some day and fly in the sky. You'll see!"

Thomas began to full out laugh at this last statement.

"Why are you laughing?" demanded Martin, tears beginning to blur his vision.

"Because you're weird."

"Am NOT!"

"ARE TO!"

"AM NOT!"

"ARE TO!"

"Everything all right boys?" asked Mr. McCormick, having heard the little skirmish.

"He says I'm weird!" said Martin.

"Now, Thomas right?" he nodded in reply, "that's not a very nice thing to call someone. Why would you call him that?"

"Cause he thinks he's gonna grow up to be an airplane!"

"So?"

"But people don't become airplanes!""

"No, not yet, but maybe Martin will be the first to do so. He can do whatever he wants when he grows up," she replied smiling down to Martin. He smiled in return, beginning to like Ms. McCormick. "Please play nicely; I don't want to hear any more name calling."

Ms. McCormick walked away and the boys were left alone. Thomas' attention strayed from the fact that Martin wanted to be an airplane, back to the toy airplane itself. "Hey, can I see that?" asked Thomas.

Martin's sadness began to disappear. "Sure, just..." but Thomas has snatched it out of Martin's hands.

"Wow this is pretty cool!" declared Thomas. He was studying the plane in detail. It was a red bi-plane that had yellow stars on the wings. The open cockpit had miniature controls painted inside to make it seem more life-like. Martin had received it as a Christmas present for his grandmother a year ago and he considered it his most prized possession. "Can it fly?" he asked

"No it's just a..." but Thomas didn't listen. Before Martin could say anything, Thomas had thrown the plane, hoping to see it fly, but Martin was trying to explain, the plane couldn't fly. It travelled as far as Thomas could throw it, before crashing down on one of the desks in the classroom, Martin ran over it as soon as it landed. He picked up his precious toy to see if it was ok. On impact of the crash land, the plastic struts between one of the pair of wings had snapped as well as one of the wings. The back tail wing was also bent. Martin couldn't, didn't want to believe what had become of his toy. He began to cry.

"You...you broke it!" shouted Martin to Thomas.

"What? No, it's okay."

"No it's not! It's not okay! Look at it!" said Martin enraged, and with tears running down his cheeks.

"What happened?" asked MS. McCormick. She had not seen Thomas throw the plane, she had just seen the aftermath.

"He broke my plane! He threw it, to see if it could fly!" accused Martin

"Thomas, that's enough of this, go to the corner!"

"But-!"

"Now. If you go now and behave the rest of the day, maybe I won't call your parents, understood?" Thomas frowned, but nodded and complied with Ms. McCormick's request.

Martin was still crying, but Ms. McCormick tried to comfort him. "It's okay Martin, let's see what the damage is," she said inspecting the broken plane. "Is this your toy from home?"

Martin nodded, "It's my favourite toy."

"Well, unfortunately, there's nothing I can do. Maybe when you get home you can fix it with some super glue or just some hot glue. Ask your parents ok? As for having your toy here, it's not against any rule, but it might be best next time to leave them at home or to at least leave it in your backpack so this doesn't happen again, ok?" Martin nodded in reply. "All right, I'm sorry. There's about thirty minutes of class left, so go do what you want," she said as she left.

Martin collected his broken plane and went to go sit at his table. He sat there staring at his plane for a while, sniffling as tears continued to fall. Some of Martin's classmates came over to ask him if he was ok, but he ignored them. Eventually he picked up a piece of paper and a crayon of those still left at the table and began to draw mindlessly. The bell signalling the end of the day came soon after.

Martin collected his things, holding his broken plane carefully in his arms to not break it any further. He walked outside and met up with his dad.

"Everything okay, sport? Was you first day good?" asked Martin's dad at seeing the boy's sullen expression. Martin simply held out the broken plane in response.

"Oh..." said his dad, kneeling down to Martin's height. "When we get home, we can try to fix it okay? I'm sorry, Martin." Martin began to cry again and clung onto his dad for comfort. His dad returned the hug and held him there for a moment. After a while, his dad released his boy and gave the plane back to him. He then picked up Martin, who was still crying, and carried him to the car, one hand gently stroking the back of his head in comfort.

"It's okay Martin, I'm sure tomorrow will be better."

Martin couldn't really imagine it being much worse.

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**=( Poor Martin. Anyways, thanks for reading! I really hope you review. It makes me write faster. Whether it's positive feedback or constructive criticism, I don't care. I just like to know people spent the time to read.**

** Also, free hug to the Sherlockian who can spot the hidden Sherlock quote in here. Unless you don't like hugs, in which case, you will be sent a free banana. Ciao!**


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